Christmas 2004 was to be our first in France.

‘I would like to make a special day of it,’ said Doris.

‘Then let’s ring round a few people and see what can be arranged,’ I said.

It worked out there were going to be nine of us for Christmas dinner so we felt that, rather than heaping the responsibility on one family, we would arrange a meal out. We came up with a list of restaurants to try. Nine people, 12.30, Christmas Day. Simple.

Not one of them was open. We extended our list and tried again. Nothing. We went back to our friends and asked for their recommendations. Another list. Another failure. Finally, somebody came up with another possible.

‘It’s not the best, David. To be honest it’s not even the tenth best but it’s always open. What do you think?’

‘I think we’re getting desperate,’ I said, ‘I’ll give them a call.’

The setting of the restaurant was lovely. The food was not. And there was no special Christmas menu, but the day was sunny and bright and we enjoyed sitting by the bank of the Charente, and with good cheer and good company it did at least feel like Christmas.

I have since found out the reason why French eateries do not open for Christmas lunch; French Christmas celebrations start with a festive meal on Christmas Eve and go on well into the night. Consequently, many people are on to the hair of the dog, raw egg yolks or Epsom salts by Christmas lunchtime.

On January 1st 2005 I encountered Monsieur Crochet tapping his way down the street. Despite his age and disability he is hugely independent. Nevertheless, with more than a touch of frost on the pavement, I was surprised to find him out alone.

‘She has gone to her sister’s house in Limoges,’ he explained, ‘but it is only for one week.’

‘Is this for a New Year celebration?’ I asked.

‘I do not think so, Monsieur, she does not like her sister. They fight like cats.’

‘Well,’ I said, ‘it is perhaps a good thing. And anyway you need someone to look after you.’

He shook his head as if unable to take this in.

‘But Monsieur,’ he said, ‘did you not know? I have the Widow Lambert to look after me. The arrangement is, shall we say, satisfactory. I am hoping that my former wife will make peace with her sister. Then perhaps she will make many visits to Limoges. Bonne Anniè.’